Camping trip part 4 (Patreon)

Hi guys! First off I wanted to apologize for the lack of a posting the last week. This past Friday was my grandma's birthday and this is the first one since she passed. That being said, to make up for it I'm posting three times this week! I love you all :) I hope you love these two as much as I do, they just keep getting softer and softer for each other

Part 1 

part 2 

part 3  

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iv.

It’d been a week since Harry dropped Y/N off at home after their camping trip when Harry called her. 

That means a week of Y/N thinking about sharing a tent with him, a week thinking about sharing a sleeping bag together, a week since he’d rubbed against her, since she wrapped her hand around him, since she pulled the head of his prick into her mouth. A week of Y/N mulling over the noises that fell from his lips, the little dip in his brow, how he sounded trying to muffle his moans with his knuckle held between his teeth. A week of Y/N slipping her fingers between her thighs, letting her eyes flutter closed, getting off to the thought and then feeling a little guilty when she trips over her underwear looped around her ankles toward the bathroom. 

She would have thought she dreamt it, had it not felt so real. Had she not been so hyper-aware of every breath, whine, muscle twitch, and moan of her name, she would have been certain that she’d imagined it all. But she knew it had happened. . .she could still feel his body shivering against her, his warmth swallowing her whole, how tightly he held onto her, how it sounded when he sighed her name. It was too vivid to be anything but real. 

Which is why she figured he’d not spoken to her for a week. Either he was embarrassed or he regretted it, she didn’t know -- he hadn’t seemed too torn up about it the following day. They’d woken up with one another, Harry gave her his sleep smile where his eyes are glued shut and his lips are stretched wide across his cheeks. After they got dressed, they took the tent down, cleaned up their area, and waited for the others to wake up so they could bid their goodbye’s. Once again they stopped for breakfast, Harry was stuffed to the brim and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to get to cuddle with him like this. Full, content, snuggled on the couch, watching something on the telly and dithering in and out of sleep. 

Harry had dropped her off, he helped her cart her things inside, they hugged and Harry said he’d get ahold of her soon so they could do something fun. 

And it’d been a week, which. . .well, the rational side of her knows that this was a very Harry thing to do. He disappears sometimes and comes back like no time has passed at all, which is sort of what she’s expecting, and she’s fine with it. It’s not like he would ignore her messages or anything, but she tried not to message him too much because she thought she would be bothering him.

So she kind of just waited. Went about her business as usual; worked on her master’s, did part-time at the clothing store she worked at (where she couldn’t afford to wear any of the stuff in it), ran errands, ate, and slept (or touched herself, came, then slept more like). Sometimes her phone would pin from a message and she would perk up a little, only to see that it wasn’t from him and her shoulders would kind of sink. 

She had started to give up hope on it. Harry was Harry, he had plenty of friends that were much more fun than her. Plenty of people who would have helped him out in the way she had. Plenty of people he’d probably rather spend his time with than her. By Friday, she wasn’t expecting to do anything at all, so she filled her tub up with hot bubbly water at 3 PM, and sunk down to her neck in it. Her computer was sat on the ground beside her so she could watch something while she soaked, and her phone was sat on the towel she had folded up on the toilet. When her phone sounded off and echoed against the bathroom walls, her gaze was torn from her show and she pushed herself up from the water so that she could reach it. She’d been waiting for Chrissy to tell her when she needed the brown bananas for her banana bread, so she wanted to know immediately if it was within the next hour or so. 

The water sloshes against the brim of the tub as she dries her hand by grasping at the towel before taking her phone. Her brows raise when she sees that it’s a message from Harry.

Are you free tonight? 

Y/N’s fingers move quicker than her brain can to even comprehend the question. When she says that she is free, the three bubbles that indicate he’s typing pop up almost immediately, like maybe he’d been waiting for her to respond. 

I’ll be round in thirty to pick you up. Is that okay? 

She all but trips out of the tub trying to move quickly enough. Towels off quickly slathers herself in lotion, kicks her feet through a pair of jeans that are torn and tattered to shreds at the knee and part of the thigh, and drags a shirt over her head that repped a college she definitely didn’t attend (nor did she know how she got the shirt). Y/N throws her purse together, tugs her shoes on, and by the time she steps into her living room to hopefully get a drink of water before when there are knuckles rapping against her door urgently. 

Concern dips her features as she goes to the knob, fixes her hands around the cool the brass, and twists it open. There she reveals Harry who held a very small kitten in his palm. . .small enough that Y/N knew it shouldn’t be away from its mother yet. His face was drooping in worry as he looked up to her, lips drew down in a frown, “She was outside of my flat,” he begins, and hearing his voice for the first time since the camping trip feels like being hugged, but she can’t really focus on that currently, “I stayed for like fifteen minutes waiting for her mum to come back and looked around for a nest but I couldn’t find either and she kept following me so I -- I took her.” 

“Oh shit, okay,” Y/N looks around, immediately frazzled, dropping the purse that she had pulled on her shoulder down to the ground and ushered him inside, “C’mon, come in,” 

“I’m not sure what to do,” he walks in, cradling the cat to his chest now to keep her warm, “She needs to eat but she needs to be warm and she’s -- she’s covered in mud, she needs to be bathed but -- she’s so small. And I’m worried if we take her to a shelter they might think she’s a lost cause or summat, since she’s so tiny. Think she might be the runt -- do they kill the runt?” 

Y/N rubs the hair from her face, shaking her head but shrugging her shoulders, “I’m not sure, I’ve -- oh! You know what?” She snaps her fingers, jabbing her finger toward the door, “A guy like four or five doors down from me fosters newborns. We can give her to. . .” She trails off as she catches Harry’s gaze -- he’s unsure. . .he’s worried about the kitten and he wants her to be taken care of but he’s already so attached to the little thing. And, hell, Y/N would feel like an absolute monster if she took the little thing from him when they could at least try. 

“I could go see if he has any extra formula,” Y/N responds instead, “And see if he’s got any tips, yeah? Stay here.” 

So Y/N flees down the hall, trips where the rug rolled up some, and wonders how lucky she was to have accidentally stumbled upon this man a few months ago. She’d accidentally gotten his package (she nearly opened it before she saw the name George) and went down to go deliver it to him herself, but when he opened the door, a cat the size of her hand took off into the hallway. After she helped him secure the kitten, he let her know that he had about eight of those little buggers running around in his flat, and against her better judgment, she went in to go see the rest. He was a very kind man, in his early thirties, single, and finding refuge in fostering little kittens that would otherwise be in a shelter. 

And he asks zero questions when Y/N asks if he has any extra formula, apart from asking if it was for weight gain or nutrition if she knew the last time the kitten had eaten, and if she wanted some extra supplies. She leaves with her hands full and a new number in her phone in case she had any questions. When she returns, Harry is sitting exactly where she left him, cradling the kitten to his body nervously and looking up to her. 

“Alright, so I think we should bathe her first --” 

They bathe her in lukewarm water, with a small shampoo sample that he had given them and Y/N doesn’t know whether to be joyful or sad at the fact that the kitten lets them wash her in the sink with little fuss. She was happy that she didn’t struggle so they could clean her efficiently, but it dawns on her that she may just be too weak to, which is heart-shattering in itself. Harry holds her still as Y/N massages the shampoo into her fur, they rinse her off and swaddle her in one of her softest, fluffiest powder blue towels. She appeared even smaller this way, especially cradled in Harry’s arms. They find that she’s actually a very light grey, her fur had just been stained with mud and what appeared to be ash. Y/N has an old small blow dryer, the heat set low and Y/N maneuvered it as she sat before them on her knees while Harry was on the couch holding her, only pulling the towel down so that they could get her belly, revealing the soft pink belly. She was too cute, Y/N couldn’t help but scratch between her ears before she prepared the formula. 

Y/N’s about to fit the syringe in the kitten’s mouth but she pauses just shy of her lips, “Do you want to try it?” 

Harry very carefully takes a hold of the syringe, making it look tiny in his massive paws, and the plastic bangs against his rings. He fits the tip into her mouth gently, the kitten is blinking at her as Y/N reaches out to position her more upright, “We don’t want her like a baby too much, so she doesn’t choke.” Harry nods but Y/N keeps her hand there for him to remove some of the stress of feeding her for him. Y/N talks him through it like she had ever done it before, but the kitten’s tongue starts moving, and she starts drinking as he slowly feeds her. 

By the time they finish, the kitten slowly blinks as she finally falls asleep. While she slept, Y/N began to work on a little bed for her. George had given her an old boot box, a few folded soft blankets, and these tiny pillows that Y/N had never seen before. Y/N folds the blue blanket he’d given her and tucked it into the box as a base, lining the pillows around the edges and smoothing out the other blanket, tucking it around the cushions. She has a little space heater that she sets it nearby but not too close to, and waves Harry over. 

Harry is cautious as he stands but the little thing is already knocked out. When they set her in her new little kitten bassinet, she stretches out from end to end before relaxing, snuggling into the blankets and falling asleep. An audible sigh of relief leaves him as he turns to face her, sat on his knees beside her, his cheeks were rosy and he looks at the face of his watch, “So, I had made us a reservation at this Thai restaurant but we’ve long since lost them, and I only have so much pull but they’re always packed,” he scrunched his nose, “I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” She furrowed her brows, shaking her head, “Let’s just order something, yeah? We can chill here and keep an eye on our new child,” she nods toward the cat, “And watch a movie or something. Have you seen this one documentary? It’s called Harry Styles: Behind the Album -- it’s riveting.” He smiles shyly as she continued, “Or we could find something on Netflix. I’m good with either.” 

He nods, leaning over to her coffee table to grab for his phone, one knee raising from the ground but she holds him at the shoulder to steady him before he’s settled, “Do you want pizza? I kinda want a pizza.” 

                                                     .                           .                         .

Hours later, Harry and Y/N had both conquered a large square cut pizza and successfully watched Twilight, much to Harry’s dismay. Every so often the kitten would shuffle, stand to stretch, yawn wide and curl back up to sleep. Each time she did, they both paused, eyeballed her like she might startle if they moved or uttered a peep, and the tension in their shoulders would noticeably ease when she finally rested. 

After the movie, they just chatted with each other. They spoke about what they’d done throughout their week, favorite candle scents, preferred shower times (and why both showerings in the morning and in the evening had their pros and cons), tv shows they’ve been binging, books they’ve been reading. Y/N isn’t a hundred percent sure how they had landed on the subject of old flings and past flames, but they had. And Harry just has that kind of face and vibe about him, where Y/N’s more than certain she could tell him anything in the world and he would listen, be understanding and kind. It’s why it’s always been so easy to open up to him, and she could only hope that he felt the same. 

And she thinks he does, considering that he started revealing bits of himself she’d never been privy to. Vulnerable bits -- how he puts his all into relationships but gets cold feet when he realizes he likes them too much. How, when he finally thinks he’s got a healthy thing going, he ends up hurt, broken, feeling defeated, and never wanting love again. Which is shit -- he loves love! But sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles, and especially when the wound is fresh, gaping, and oozy with bruised feelings, he feels like shit. Absolute shit. 

She feels for him -- she’d heard the bloody album, she’d known he’d been in pain but it was different hearing him speak about it. Harry didn’t seem very affected by it any longer, more so he reflects on it in a way that it was just an unpleasant memory, but her heart still aches for him. 

From there, Harry had explained that he hadn’t really been with anyone since, both emotionally and intimately, “Well. . .like, apart from what we did in the tent.” 

Y/N gasped a little bit, and his eyes widened some, “Harry. . .I don’t think that counts,” she tells him, “I didn’t even put in that much effort, I don’t think I deserve to count as an intimate moment.”

“You put your mouth on me, I consider that pretty intimate,” he shuffles some, pulling his knee to his chest, his socked foot resting against her thigh, “What would you consider intimate?” 

She lulls the question around in her head for a moment, chewing on her cheek as she thought on it, “I reckon for it to be intimate we’d have to be kissing and all that. Also, equal levels of effort ought to be put in, and you were already halfway finished by the time I joined in. And you were doing most of the hip work --” 

“Okay!” He all but squawks, covering his face with his palms and shaking his head but she can make out the wrinkles of his cheeks as he grins, “God, how do you just. . .you speak about it so casually.” 

“Well, it was pretty casual,” her elbow sat on the back of her couch, her face resting in her hand, while her other hand reached out and looped around his wrist, giving a small tug “I was just helping you get off. It’s natural.” 

Harry allows her to pry his hand away, “You’re still positive you’re not upset about it?” 

“Babe, if I were any more positive about it, I think I’d morph into a plus sign.” He giggles at her and she feels too warm -- his giggles are always so unexpected and cute. His eyes crinkle up, and if he’s feeling particularly giddy, he’ll cover his face, “I don’t mind helping you with anything.” 

“I don’t know how you’re single,” Harry blurts out and he looks like he hadn’t meant to say it, but he’d already said it -- he had to continue, as he blinks rapidly, searching for the words to say, “You’re just so. . .good. You’re kind and you’re funny and you make sure I eat, even if you stuff me so full I can’t move. And you’re just so positive I -- you’re like one of them people where you can just be yourself around them no matter what. I never worry about being me when I’m with you.” 

Y/N feels her heart glow in her chest, warm and bright, like a whitish-yellow light. “You’re too sweet to me,” she tells him, pouting out her mouth, “I dunno’ guess I just haven’t found someone who thinks of me as highly as you do.” She sighs, eyes flickering over to the kitten, “She’s got to be fed every 4 to 6 hours and, well, considering that it’s already 12 AM, we already need to get ready. How about you feed her, I’ll put some cookies in the oven.” 

“Cookies?” He stresses, laying his hand on his belly, “I think you want me to pop.” 

                                                .                               .                            .

How did they end up cuddling? Y/N couldn’t tell you. Post-cookies they had both decided it was incredibly cold in her flat, Y/N had one throw blanket, and her couch was already pretty small. They cuddled up against one another beneath the blanket, very reminiscent of their time in the sleeping bag. Y/N wondered why they didn’t do this all the time -- she was so cozy, her muscles were so loose, and her mind was clear of any worry or stress. She was at ease with their legs tangled together, leaning her weight into his body, breathing him in, the vanilla-y scent of his clothes, and his skin lull her into a sense of calm that she is unable to describe exactly. 

It makes her sleepy. She feels herself toeing between the lines of conscious thought and floaty dreams, when Harry says, “Sweetheart?” and she hums in response, “Do you want me to head home?” 

“No,” she nestles closer to him, “What're you trying to leave me with the baby? Cold and alone? A single mother, who is cold, and alone, watching documentaries by --” 

Harry chuckles, “Christ, okay! I won’t leave, I’ll stay I just didn’t want to stay over uninvited.” 

“I’m sleeping you, that’s my invite,” she murmurs, “Consider this your repayment for me getting you off. Actually, rub my arm then that’s repayment.” 

He laughs, his chest moves and along with it she does, but he worms his arm from where it had been in between them and loops it around her shoulders, tentatively tracing the tips of his fingers along the skin. Y/N snuggles and bunkers down, letting herself slip back into that dreamy world she’d been in, only this time she’s being petted, so it's much better. Sleeping with Harry means a good night’s sleep, which will leave her feeling refreshed and renewed. Over the camping trip, she woke up much happier than she typically did, so she was excited to feel this way again. 

Plus, the couch is much more comfortable than a sleeping bag. 

Y/N feels very lucky in the moments before she falls into her slumber.